


Unfinished Business

by veronamay



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Multi, Rape, Sexual Violence, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-22
Updated: 2004-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:25:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will suffers.  Horribly.</p>
<p>Please note the warnings and tags; this is not a HEA fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfinished Business

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks are due to [](http://lydia-petze.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://lydia-petze.livejournal.com/)**lydia_petze** for wrestling with this monster, even though I wouldn't change the ending. I owe you unmitigated filth for this one, sweet.

Barbossa watched the island and its two new inhabitants until they were no more than specks on the beach. Then he turned to Will and smiled, gesturing toward the main cabin.

"Would you care for a bite, Master Turner?" he asked, all greasy courtesy. "We're unable to satisfy our own hunger, but that doesn't mean our guests should suffer."

Will looked at the desperate gleam in Barbossa's eyes and remembered Elizabeth's tale. Wasted men, she had said, unable to find sustenance but lusting for it nonetheless.

"No, thank you," he said. He'd give them no satisfaction if he could help it.

Barbossa’s face tightened at Will’s refusal, but he said nothing further to him. He gestured to a pair of men to come forward.

"Take him below," he ordered, and turned away.

Will caught only glimpses of the men as he was pushed toward the hatchway, but the looks on some of the faces were unmistakable. Those men had put their dirty hands on Elizabeth, but he had freed her before they could follow through; he could guess what thoughts they now entertained. He met every stare with all the calmness he could muster. _Safe_ , he reminded himself. _They're away from here, and safe._

There was still the crew from the _Interceptor_ , led now by Gibbs and Anamaria, but he could do nothing for them. Barbossa had sent them below as soon as Jack dove into the water, and Will had no idea where they might be. There was no way out for any of them.

He was hustled into a dank cell in the hold, locked in and left in near-darkness to consider his fate. He immediately began to seek a way out, but there was no weakness in the cell's metalwork, nor tools to create one. There was water seeping across the floor, coming from somewhere to the stern, but the leak was slow. The deck beneath his feet was dry, sturdy and in good repair -- no hope of prising a hole in the planking though which to slide into the bilges. He was trapped.

Defeated for the moment, he sat down to think. His mind went immediately to Elizabeth, trying to console himself with the knowledge that she at least was free, and Jack with her; but that only brought a longing to be with them, even if their fate was to die on that forsaken spit of land. They would be safe there, he hoped.

For himself, he had no real hope. Jack was the only one who knew where the _Pearl_ was going, and by the time he and Elizabeth got off the island -- _when_ , he thought firmly, not _if_ \-- Will would be long dead. He tried to feel noble about that, but only managed a sort of depressed resignation.

"The sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the sons," he muttered to the empty dark, and snorted. Would that Elizabeth had never brought the damned medallion to light!

The few glimmers of daylight from above began to fade away, and Will tried to sleep. But the pirates continued to work and carouse and he could only linger on the edge of consciousness, kept awake by the constant noise and the hunger that was beginning to pinch his belly.

Shortly after full dark overtook the hold, he heard stealthy footsteps coming toward him. He held his breath and moved back slowly until his back touched the bulkhead. Barbossa would have no need for stealth; but he remembered very well the overly familiar hands of the men who had held him while Elizabeth went over the side.

* * *

"Boy," a raspy voice whispered in the dark. "That's a fine wench you've deprived us of today. I had plans for 'er, and you've ruined 'em good and proper. Now, how're you going to pay for that?"

Will kept silent. He could hear footsteps shuffling closer; the sound of heavy breathing was very near.

"Is she a tasty bit, I wonder?" the faceless man asked. "I'll bet she is. Looks like a peach, she does, all ripe for the plucking." He drew out the last word with an audible slobber, and Will gritted his teeth.

"Have you been between those lovely white thighs, lad? Did she moan and buck beneath you, or lie there like a board all stiff and cold? Or haven't ye ploughed her depths yet?" The pirate's laugh echoed harshly. "I'll wager she'll not be lonely for long, with old Jack for company. You can say goodbye to that one, lad."

Will closed his eyes and thought of Jack and Elizabeth entwined in lust, lying on a bed of white sand, drunk on rum and silky night air. His stomach twisted, but not with anger. More images followed: himself and Elizabeth, himself and Jack, the three of them lying together in a tangled mess, comfortable and sated with one another. He leaned his head back against the wall and bit his lip until it bled.

Some small noise must have betrayed his location; out of nowhere a hand grabbed his neck and squeezed, and he found himself pulled sideways against the iron bars of the cell. The hand left him, to be replaced by a knife that pressed against his skin and drew a line of fire across it. Will remained very still.

"Move," the pirate ordered, and shoved left. Will did as he was told, shuffling along until he felt the heavy lock pressing into the small of his back. The knife on his throat pressed harder in warning as the pirate fumbled behind him, unlocking the cell and sliding inside.

Will had time to wonder how badly this was going to hurt. Then a blow to the back of his neck sent him reeling to the floor, and the pirate's weight was atop him before he could draw breath.

"She's a pretty one, all right," came the whisper in his ear. "But you're just as pretty -- and all holes're the same in the dark."

* * *

The pain was the least of it, he discovered. Pain could be borne and ignored, if a man possessed the strength to do so. The invasion of his flesh was what brought him agony -- the inescapable pounding fact of the pirate's flesh in his vitals, the heavy weight atop his back, pressing him into the deck so that he could not breathe nor move. His legs were splayed wide by the pirate's knees, his muscles straining against the indignity being done him. The knife was still at his throat, sawing back and forth with their movements, and a thin trickle of blood was flowing freely down his chest to mingle with sweat and his silent tears of rage. He bucked, trying to flip the man off his back, but the pirate merely jabbed an elbow into his kidney and he fell down, fighting nausea and faintness. He could not catch his breath, he was being torn apart and it would never end -- and then the pirate heaved a final time and collapsed onto him, and he used the moment to roll over, getting his hands around the pirate's throat above him.

Will had hammered steel and worked a bellows since he was twelve years old. He could crack walnuts with his fingers. He didn't look strong – but looks were deceiving, and he was the son of a pirate. Ruthlessness was there, waiting for him to call on it.

He locked his fingers together and _squeezed_.

The pirate convulsed beneath him, fingers scrabbling desperately, trying to loosen Will's grip. Will ignored his struggles and concentrated, bringing all the strength in his arms and chest to bear, and soon the man began to weaken.

When it was over, it was an effort to pry his fingers away and let the dead man fall. He wasn't really dead, of course; no doubt he would be on his feet again in minutes, perhaps less. But that was time enough.

* * *

He lay still on the floor afterward, breathing with difficulty, his skin crawling with revulsion. It was took precious long moments before he could force himself to move, sliding out from under the weight of the body. The pirate's eyes shone whitely in the gloom, a leer on the darkened face. Will scrambled away on hands and knees, fetching up in a corner of the cell hugging his legs to his chest, staring back at it. The raw, wet deck scraped at his bare backside. There were things to consider now -- the not-dead pirate and the open cell door, and the fact that he could not stand up, but his mind refused to focus. His legs quivered from the strain of being stretched apart, and they failed to hold him when he tried to stand. He needed to move but could not, so he sat and waited for his strength to return, watching the body for signs of recuperation.

Sounds of revelry drifted down from abovedeck; there was no rest on this ship, and noise was heard at every hour. Will was thankful for that. Perhaps no-one had heard the ruckus.

What a man can do, Jack had said. And what he can't. Apparently Will could kill a man (but the pirate wasn't really dead, he couldn't forget that, he had to get away _now_ but his legs still wouldn't work) without hesitation or even a hint of remorse. The evidence lay there not ten feet from him, purple tongue protruding accusingly from the slack face. He flexed his fingers. The feel of dirty clammy skin was still there between them. There were scraps of flesh caught under his nails; he picked them out and flung them across the room in disgust.

Time to move, whether his legs were willing or no. He needed to find a way off this ship.

* * *

When he was sure his legs could hold him, he stood up and moved carefully through the hold until he found a ladder leading up to the main deck. There was still noise coming from above, but it was muted. Will eased up the ladder and risked a quick glance over the edge of the hatch. No-one was in sight; good.

Climbing onto the deck proved a difficult and painful task, but he ignored the discomfort and moved as quickly and silently as possible, rolling under the cover of a jolly boat to rest. He was below the quarterdeck at the stern of the ship, thankfully away from midships where it sounded like the pirates were tearing each other apart. Will thought about the ways they could entertain themselves, being that they couldn't be killed, and shuddered. He supposed he should try to find the medallion, but right now he simply wanted to be gone. He would launch one of the boats and escape as best he could, and hope to be picked up by a friendly ship.

The fate of Gibbs and the crew of the _Interceptor_ nagged at his conscience. He didn't know where they were held, and looking for them was likely to get him caught again – they wouldn't do the same for him, of that he was sure. But the more he thought about it the more Will knew he couldn't just leave without at least trying to find them. Stifling a groan at his own foolishness, he abandoned the safety of the boat and began to move along the deck through the shadows, seeking another hatchway to go below once more.

He had barely moved past the mainmast when Barbossa's pale, skeletal arm barred his way in the moonlight.

"Where d'ye think you're going, Master Turner?" he asked.

Will looked up into the dead eyes and the rotting face and knew his final chance was gone.

* * *

Gibbs's face lit up when he saw Will being escorted into the cell opposite the crew.

"Will!" he cried, frowning as he looked at Will's disheveled condition. "We thought you were dead for sure. Are ye all right, lad?"

"Yes," said Will. He wasn't going to talk about it -- ever. "Is everyone else all right?"

"Aye," Anamaria said. "We're living it up, waiting for Barbossa to honour his bargain." Heavy sarcasm laced her last words, and the two men mopping the deck looked up and glared at her. She bared her teeth at them and turned away in disgust. Will saw that their faces held both fear and lust, but fear seemed to be holding the upper hand. He didn't fancy their chances with her, and the knowledge that he hadn't proven equally fearsome made him feel ashamed despite the blood still trickling down his neck.

Will wanted badly to lie down, but didn't allow himself to rest. He paced the length of the cell, trying to think. All avenues seemed closed to him now; the only plan that presented itself was to free the crew and take the _Black Pearl_ by main force, but they would never succeed against the pirates. It would mean their deaths. He wasn't willing to spend everyone's lives for that spark of hope.

"We're done for, Will." Gibbs's voice penetrated the fog of exhaustion around his thoughts. "Don't wear yourself thin worrying about it."

Will looked up and met the old seaman's eyes. Gibbs held his gaze for a moment, acknowledging the truth they both knew. Then his expression sharpened.

"Did ye see what happened to Jack, lad?" he asked, his voice low.

"He went over the side," Will said. "I saw him dive in after his pistol when Barbossa threw it over. He came up again, I know that much."

"Ah." Gibbs nodded. "He'll be fine then."

They fell silent after that and watched the pirates mop the floor. There wasn't much else to say.

Some short while later in the middle of pacing yet another length of his cell, Will's legs gave out on him without warning. He went to the floor in a heap. Pain lashed at his backside, and he rolled quickly to his hip. Gibbs was watching him when he looked up; he was glad of the dimness, for it helped to hide his shame.

"Not to worry, lad," said Gibbs, thankfully matter-of-fact. "It's common enough. You're not the first, and you won't be the last. Time and rest will take care of it, and a girl, if you can find one." His gaze said more than the words did, for which Will was grateful. The shame was still there, but at least Gibbs understood.

He wondered if Jack did.

* * *

The shine of the gold was so bright it hurt his eyes in the dimness of the cavern. Will shut his eyes against it and waited for Barbossa to strike. He had the fleeting thought that perhaps this was justice. His father had been a part of this, after all, and perhaps it was Will's responsibility to end it in his place. There could be no hope of stopping Barbossa and his crew so long as the curse remained unbroken; once they were mortal again, there would be nothing to stop Norrington from hunting them down and ridding the ocean of their pestilence.

"I hope you're not too damaged, lad," Barbossa whispered in his ear. "He was a bit rough, especially if it was your first time. It was fun to watch though, I assure you. I was greatly entertained. Better than a banquet with your Elizabeth, truth be told." He laughed, and his foul breath streamed past Will's face. Will closed his eyes and began to wish for death. There were no limits to shame, it seemed. But it would be over in moments, all of it, and to good purpose.

Having found some comfort and purpose in the event of his death, he was at last ready to face it -- and then Jack arrived and turned everything on its head.

"By all means, kill the whelp," Jack was saying, and Will had a moment of despair. But there was something in Jack's voice as he kept talking that made Will pay attention, and then the words hit his ears and Jack _looked_ at him just so, and in an instant his faith was restored. He wondered that Jack could do that so easily, but he was too glad of the hope to question the whys and wherefores of it. The pirates began to leave the cavern in droves, eager to spill more Navy blood, and Will considered the odds and looked to Jack for the opportune moment.

* * *

Barbossa lay dead on the cavern floor, and Will felt nothing. No exultation to be alive, no furious sense of vengeance; nothing. He blinked a few times and waited for the rush of righteous joy to come, but all he felt was a sharp wish to go home.

Elizabeth stood several feet away, her back to him. His feet took him to her unwittingly, and she smiled into his eyes. Will returned the look, his throat choked with too many words. A clanking noise came from behind him -- Jack, casually looting Barbossa's treasure. For a moment he was caught between them.

"We should return to the _Interceptor_ ," Elizabeth said. Her smile had faded somewhat, but her eyes were still fixed intently on his face. Will thought of returning to Port Royal, which reminded him of what would happen when they got there. Elizabeth was going to marry Norrington, just like she’d promised. She was a woman of her word.

"Your fiance will be wanting to know you are safe," he said woodenly. Elizabeth's gaze fell away. In his confusion he could not speak, and she brushed aside and fled to the boat before he could get his senses in order.

Jack came up beside him, a crown perched drunkenly on his head. Will smelled him, a mixture of sweat, rum and cloves. His pulse stuttered. Jack still unnerved him, but it was different now. Images plagued him as they had since _then_ , but rough hands and noisome breath were replaced by elegant fingers and warm skin. Will was honest enough to be curious. The act wasn't meant to be painful; otherwise why would anyone do it? He dared a look sideways. They were of a size; Jack would not crush him into the floor. There would be no invasion. If he could just ask....

Again, he could not speak. More words piled into his throat but he could not give them voice. Jack gave him a look he could not interpret.

"If you were waiting for the opportune moment," Jack said, "that was it."

* * *

Many times on the return trip to Port Royal, Will thought of escaping with Jack in one of the jolly boats, casting off in the dead of night to try and catch the _Black Pearl_. It was a foolish dream, and he proved himself unworthy of piracy by remaining a solid citizen and avoiding Jack's company. Elizabeth was there, but he preferred not to think about _that_ foolish dream. He could not come near her in any case, bracketed as she was by her father and her intended. It was much easier instead to sit and think about what to do when he returned home. Could he remain in Port Royal once Elizabeth was married? Could he watch Jack hang for the crime of saving Will's life? He didn't know; but he had learned that he was capable of many things he had never dreamed possible.

He ignored the feeling of panic that came over him when he walked into a dark cabin belowdeck, and when he woke from sleep heaving and thrashing he called it restlessness and paced the deck till dawn. When Jack came up for his daily exercise, Will climbed the mainmast rigging and sat atop the yardarm, looking down on his dark braided head, thinking things he could never say aloud. And if sometimes Jack would tilt his head up and look back at him, Will never mentioned it or thought of it after. But those looks were etched in his memory for good, making him believe briefly that his third dream may not have been so foolish, if only he'd possessed the courage.

Port Royal was astonishingly normal. Will walked through the streets wondering at how _ordinary_ everything was. He returned to his home and his work, but he had made too many swords now, and used them for more than practice, and he was no longer content with mending axles and shoeing horses. He had taken a small share of the loot from Barbossa's cave: "It's yours, lad, your father earned it," Jack said, and so he had stuffed his pockets and tried not to feel guilty. It was enough to buy new clothes and to book passage on a ship to the Americas, with some left over for a smithy when he got there. Events spiralled out of his reach, and before he knew it the wedding was near (it was "the wedding", not "Elizabeth's wedding", because that was the only way he could stand it), and Jack ...

Well. He'd tried not to think about Jack at all once they returned, because if he did he would remember that the cell doors in the barracks had half-pin barrel hinges and he knew just how much pressure it would take to lever them right off the jamb, and that would be the end of all his good intentions. And Jack would thank him and be off before Will could blink, because Jack was a pirate, and Will would be left to take the blame. So he stayed away from the barracks – not difficult, as Norrington was often there – and buried himself in work. He didn't sleep any better, and the nightmares were darker than ever because he _could_ help Jack but didn't dare, and what would his father say to that, that he'd left a good man to die after that man had saved his life?

So Will stewed in an agony of indecision and tossed restlessly at night and dreamed short, hot, feverish dreams of sandy beaches and lazy embraces and the rum that was always on Jack's lips, and the perfumed hollow between Elizabeth's breasts, and when he got up in the mornings he took it all and hammered at it in the forge, beat it down with the metal into a twisted shining mass that he could make into some useful thing. And every night he went back to his rooms and began it over again, ignoring his steadily thinning frame and hollowed eyes and the way people started avoiding his gaze on the street. He had enough sense to stay away from drink, at least; some instinct warned him not to take that final step. That only meant that he had no release from the round of torment he had made for himself, and as time went by it only got worse until he barely spoke to anyone at all. The smithy was flourishing, money was plentiful because his work was exquisite, but he couldn't remember the last time someone had waved and smiled at him in the noonday sun.

And all the while the idea that Jack could help him grew in his mind, but Will couldn't countenance it. Jack could help him, yes, but Will didn't deserve his help. Will had left him festering in a prison cell for days when a moment's labour would free him. Will had been looking after himself all this while, taking what he could, giving nothing back.

He was a pirate after all, but he wasn't a good man.

The day of Jack's hanging, he was seized with the need to say goodbye. Guilt weighted him down. He was grandly outfitted from head to toe, but he might have been wearing sackcloth for all the courage it gave him.

He saw Jack standing there on the platform, the noose around his neck, and deep in his mind he made a decision. He had lost Elizabeth without ever really having her, and now he would lose Jack to Norrington as well, unless someone did something.

Put like that, there really wasn't any choice.

* * *

One of the things that attracted Will to Elizabeth was her intelligence. She saw his face after Jack fell over the wall, and two seconds after her father left them alone and their glorious embrace was over, she drew back and looked into his face.

"You'll follow him," she said. It was not a question.

"I have to." Will swallowed. "We have ... unfinished business."

"And then you'll come back."

"I'll come back," he said, and hoped he wasn't lying.

She saw through him, of course. She was very intelligent.

"Goodbye, Will," said Elizabeth, and went back to join Norrington and her father.

* * *

Jack fell back into the rhythm of the _Pearl_ as if he'd never lost her. The crew were sound and as true as you could get with pirates, and they all liked Elizabeth's song – or pretended to, which was just as good in Jack's book. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this contented. Even a two-day storm that left them stranded and off course on their way to Isla de Muerte couldn't take the smile from his face.

"It's good to have you back, Captain," said Gibbs the day after it stopped raining and you could actually hear yourself speak. "The _Pearl_ wasn't the same without you."

"Of course she wasn't," Jack said grandly. "She knows who 'er master is, don't you, my lovely?" He stroked the wheel affectionately.

"Well, you can thank young Turner for that," Gibbs went on. "Him and Miss Elizabeth. It was them who made us think about coming back for you."

Jack looked up, his eyes glinting. "Was it, now? I wonder why."

"Simple enough, for the girl." Gibbs slanted him a look. "She was sweet on you, I reckon. Will, though – he's a harder nut to crack. Good man. He'd make a good pirate. Doesn't look it, but he's got steel in him, just like his father." He nodded approvingly. "Took a hell of a knock from one of Barbossa's lot, but he didn't let it slow 'im down."

Jack said nothing, but he could feel Gibbs's eyes on him. Will hadn't had a mark on his face, just a cut on the neck, and no trouble moving around except for ... ah. Barbossa always had a taste for unwilling lads.

"A good man," he echoed. "Yes, Will is that. Doesn't have the makings of a pirate though. Can't look out for himself at all."

"Still," Gibbs said, "I could trust him not to knife me in the back. That's all that matters in the end." His gaze bored into Jack's blank face.

No, Jack thought. Some things mattered more. What was left of his sanity, for one. Will's life, for another. He'd paid back his debts and won his fair lady, and Jack had all he wanted in the _Pearl_. Nothing more to be said about it.

* * *

Will was waiting for them when they arrived in Tortuga. Jack saw him sitting in a corner of the tavern where they'd found Gibbs. He made no move to approach the boy; he'd cut his lines on that score. If that ridiculous hat sometimes coloured his dreams, he paid it no mind. He dreamed about dancing pineapples, too.

Gibbs was with him, but drifted away when Will came over. "Hello, Jack," Will said quietly. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"What'll it cost me?" Jack asked. Will looked withdrawn, but he smiled.

"A few minutes of your time," he replied. "Please."

Jack waved carelessly at the empty seat beside him. Will signaled to one of the serving wenches, avoided a drunken man's grasping hands and sat down, all of this with more ease than he would have had a month before. The lad had changed, Jack thought. He was harder, with no air of naivete about him. This Will Turner could be mistaken for a pirate.

"Well then," he said, when Will sat, "begin. What's on your mind, young Will?"

There was no fidgeting or beating about the bush with Will; the lad had never dithered. Jack approved of that.

"You said once," Will began, "that there were only two things in life that were really important: what a man can do, and what he can't."

Jack didn't remember saying that, but it sounded suitably impressive. He nodded for Will to continue, neatly snagging a couple of tankards from a serving wench's tray.

"I can do a lot of things I didn't know about." Will's dark eyes were intent. "But I can't let another opportune moment pass me by."

Gibbs was across the room with a pair of girls, obviously bargaining their price. Jack wished in vain to be rescued, but this was Tortuga and it was every man for himself.

"And what moment would that be?" Jack said, knowing his cue.

"This moment. Right now," Will replied. "I had to find out if I was imagining it, so I came. If you tell me I wasn't, I won't be going back."

Jack didn't understand him at first. Imagining what? Then – oh, that. Oh, hell.

"Will," he said, trying to be friendly about it, "you're an idiot."

"What?" Will frowned. "Why?"

Jack sighed. "You give up a girl you've risked life and limb and fortune for, the girl you've wanted all your life, to come out here on the vague hope that I'd welcome you with open arms and teach you to be a pirate? So you could take your father's place, no doubt." He shook his head and took a drink from his tankard.

"No!" The lad looked scandalised. "That's not what I meant at all. I wanted ... something else." Now he was edgy, twirling his mug between his hands. "I don't want to be a pirate."

"Well, I don't want to be anything else," Jack said. Best to be honest with the boy. "I've tried the straight and narrow, Will. Doesn't suit me. This does." He gestured at the chaos surrounding them.

"I don't want to change that," Will protested. "You don't have to do anything different, Jack. I know you're a good man. I just want ... oh, hell." He stopped talking and leaned in, and Jack found himself with a mouthful of Will Turner. The lad knew what he was doing, so he let him continue until they both ran out of air. When he pulled back, he caught a glimpse of the old Will, veiled hope in his eyes.

It was tempting, very tempting. He supposed Will saw himself setting up a smithy here, doing a brisk business in cutlasses and pistols. Jack would roam off in the _Pearl_ and come back to visit, and Will would welcome him home. It made a pretty picture, he couldn't deny that.

"Sorry, Will," he said. "That doesn't suit me either."

* * *

Will stumbled out of the tavern without knowing or caring where he went. Jack had given him money for his passage home and wished him well. Gibbs had shaken his hand and thrown him a sympathetic look, and that was that. His unfinished business was at an end.

"But I thought..." Will said, and stopped. A thought occurred to him; shame made his voice low. "Did Gibbs tell you what happened on the _Black Pearl_?”

"Aye," Jack said. "But that's got nothing to do with it. It's a rare seaman of any stripe who's never had his backside stretched once or twice, son. The pretty ones especially." His voice was dry. Jack was a very good looking man.

"Then what?" He tried not to sound pleading. There was still his pride. "You can't tell me I'm mistaken. I know I'm not."

"Not entirely, no," Jack agreed. "But that's not how it works, Will. You want to stay here and keep house while I go around raiding and looting innocent people, destroying their lives and homes, and when I come back you'll take me to your bed and not ask any questions about what I've done and who I've done it with?" He leaned in close, his eyes burning. "Can you live like that?"

"Yes," Will said, but he knew Jack didn't believe him.

* * *

It was the best choice for the lad, Jack thought. He'd wanted to be his father over again, but they were different men, and it was no use trying to fit a mould not made for you. Jack had learned that lesson at an early age.

Still ... but no. It would end badly, as these things did. They were a bad fit, worse than Will and Elizabeth were, and look how that turned out. Best to steer clear of the whole mess. He had the _Pearl_ , and the freedom of the ocean, and that was enough.

* * *

Quite by accident, three days later, they found Will's body floating in the harbour. It was caught on the _Black Pearl_ 's anchor cable, bloated and pale. Jack hauled the dead weight aboard the launch boat and found a stab wound in the lower back that told the tale.

He kept a calm face while they buried the lad properly at sea, then went to his cabin and started drinking.


End file.
